


Voodoo Child

by orphan_account



Category: Muse
Genre: AU, Drug Use, Historical, M/M, Swinging Sixties, Woodstock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1969: Dom, having saved up with his friends from Teignmouth, manages to make it to Woodstock festival, where he finds himself completely entranced by a mysterious stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics and title are taken from the song by Jimi Hendrix.

_Well, I stand up next to a mountain_

_And I chop it down with the edge of my hand_

_Well, I stand up next to a mountain_

_Chop it down with the edge of my hand_

_Well, I pick up all the pieces and make an island_

_Might even raise just a little sand_

_'Cause I'm a voodoo child_

_Lord knows I'm a voodoo child_

 

The air is thick with musty summer heat. My hair flickers in the wind as I peer out of the window at that American sunrise. Its psychedelic colours of pink and gleaming orange bleed from the horizon so fiercely that it burns my bleary, sleep-heavy eyes. My breath catches in my throat as it dawns on me; this is it. This is the beginning of the best three days of my life.

You wouldn’t think it, not from the hideous snores of Chris who’s still passed out in the bunk above. Or from the vile stench of sweat and booze we’ve managed to accumulate in the van over the past few days we’ve spent living and travelling in it. You wouldn’t think our van was new, either. We’ve really messed it up- even though we spent the whole of the spring saving up for it. All the car washes, all the part-time jobs, the chores, the yard sales…when you’re half-asleep, hungover and subject to the sounds and smells I am right now, it sometimes feels like it wasn’t worth it. But _no_ , I tell myself. _It will be. It’ll be worth it when you get there, and you see his face. Right there on the stage. It’ll be so, so worth it._

The _he_ in question is the one currently subduing my morning crankiness. I can hear him on the radio- good old Hendrix himself. Two more days, and I’ll be seeing him with my own eyes. Still in limbo between sleep and consciousness, I absentmindedly begin to murmur along. I’ve heard this song, what? A thousand times? I know it so well that it’s a reflex action. The lyrics slip off my tongue as soft as silk. Or at least, that’s how it sounds to me.

“Dom!” I hear a voice cry from the driver’s seat. Scanning my company in the back, I realise it must belong to Tom. “You can’t sing for toffee. Let them sleep, yeah? “He chuckles. “You can sing all you like when we get there.”

I close my eyes, the darkness stained with light shades of red through my eyelids. I guess he’s right.

*

I met Tom, Chris and Morgan at school when I was just a little kid. We weren’t really friends then. I hung out with different people and I only really saw them occasionally. They were just satellites, little stars that sometimes sparkled at the edge of my vision but rarely caught my eye. My clique always told me they weren’t cool, so I did my best to stay away from them. I never thought they’d turn out to be the best friends I’d ever had.

It all changed three years ago; a magical, supernatural event that drew us together from the corners of the earth like a magnet. That was when we discovered _the music_. My friends never understood it, my obsession, my passion for it- that’s what made me realise they weren’t my friends, not really. We hung out a lot, but I guess that on the inside, our souls just weren’t the same. It’s funny how I saw them in a different light after that. They weren’t cool anymore. What was cool were people like Tom, like Chris and Morgan- people with souls that shone in a million resplendent colours and tasted like sugar and were beautiful. That’s what was cool. People like them who didn’t care who you were- if you loved the music, you were their brother.

And here we are- we’re on our way, and pretty soon, the music will be right there in front of us. Not just a sound- well, it was never _just_ a sound- and not just a little tinny tv programme rattling away in the corner. It’ll be real. It’ll be tangible. And best of all, we’ll be surrounded with a thousand other people who love it just as much as we do. We’ve come a long, long way to get here, too, so it had better be worth it- we had to cross the pond to come this far, and the van journey! God- I think the thought of seeing Hendrix in the flesh is the only thing keeping me sane.

It’s already well into midday when I get up. Everyone else is still drenched in sleep- that is, until, I see the sunlight splashing the carpet yellow, and the fluffy American clouds in the sky that they only get here, and I hear soft music and voices emanate from the open window and- I know where I am.

We’re _here_. At last.

“We’re here! Fuck, everyone get up! We’re fucking _here_!”

Tom jolts awake in his seat, briefly gripping the steering wheel before coming to his senses with a loud snort. “Fucking-oh, for fuck’s sake, Dom! I drove us here this morning!”

As Morgan yawns in the passenger seat with long stretch and I begin to hear the creaks in the mattress as Chris stirs from slumber, I fly to my suitcase and ransack it for an outfit. We’ve only got two suitcases between us, so one outfit for the whole three days is going to have to do.

“We have to go right now,” I urge them. “We’re missing it! We’re missing-“ I fumble on the floor for the leaflet. “-Vacuous Pear“.

“Who?” Chris mumbles.

“Well, we’ll never know if we don’t find out!” I laugh, tugging on a pair of tan bell-bottoms. Evidently, not everyone shares my enthusiasm, and I’m met with a choir of tiresome moans. “Come on! We got this far- I want to see everything.”

Morgan squints at me from the front. “Is-is that- a _dreamcatcher_?”

I look down at the large, feathery pendant hanging around my neck. “Oh-yeah,” I admit, blushing. “It’s my sister’s. I thought it would look cool.”

Chris says nothing, instead turning back to his bed with a low chuckle at my expense.

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “You’re really going for that peace and love thing then, eh?” He smirks. “Can you feel the universe moving in sync with your heartbeat?” He goads, illustrating with wide eyes and a wiggle of his fingers. “Are you in touch with your spirit animal? Can you…paint with all the colours of the wind? Or some bullshit like that, I don’t know.”

I pout at him. “It’s _not_ bullshit. It’s important.”

“Whatever, mate. I know what I’m here for,” He says, lurching over to the window where a couple of long-legged, miniskirt-clad girls are already twirling around on the grass outside. He grins to himself. “And for the music. Of course.”

I frown at him. Trust Tom to go and be a perv about it.  I’m already dressed, so I may as well go and explore without them.

The sun feels glorious on my bare skin. Where we come from, there’s not a lot of sun, so this is like walking on the surface of a different planet. I should probably put some shoes on, but- damn, there’s just something so good about walking barefoot on the grass. Feels so natural, you know?

…Yeah, so maybe I am into a bit of that Hippie crap Tom was going on about. But I don’t care what he thinks. All our souls are linked, I think. We’re all meant to live in harmony. That’s what’s best for everyone. I get this feeling sometime that I have to get back to nature. Just go out into the middle of nowhere, take off my shoes, lie back in the grass and the pale sunshine and just absorb the world around me. I like that. I’d like to be a flower, or a tree, or a cloud, just sitting back and watching the world go by. I think that’s how humans are meant to live. No jobs. No school. No fighting. None of that bullshit getting in the way. Just love, nature and peace. That’s all we need.

“Dom?” A voice brings me back to reality from the van. I turn- it’s Chris, half-dressed and still dark-eyed from his apparent hibernation. “We’ll follow you to the stage in a bit, yeah? Unfortunately we don’t have the same energy you do.” He smiles sheepishly. “Plus, Morgan thinks he’s got sunburn, so he might take a little longer. Needs some lotion.”

I’ve never really got sunburn. I think I’ve spent so long in the sunshine that I’m immune to it. I swear I spend, what, three-quarters of my life outside. “That’s cool. I’ll see you later.”

He nods and vanished back into the shadow of the door. I can still hear bickering from inside, so I laugh and take off amongst the tents on my way to find the stage, the centre of my universe. My altar.

*

Vacuous Pear are actually pretty good, I guess. To be honest I’m just so glad to be here that I’ll up and dance to pretty much anything. There’s not that many people at the stage just yet. I wonder how packed it’ll be on Monday morning, after that long, long night of waiting, and we’ve danced for so long that the sun comes up…I can barely imagine it. I’ve never been one for rowdy parties before. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m amazed, actually, by the sheer variety of people- I thought my (proudly home-made) tie-dye vest, collection of bangles and my dreamcatcher centrepiece would be enough to make me stand out. I was wrong, I guess- so many rainbow colours, beads, feathers, paint, glitter, flowers- anything and everything you can imagine, plastered on every scrap of material- everyone’s a walking piece of art. I’ve never felt so at home. This is insane- and this isn’t even everyone yet. How many more will there be? Hundreds? _Thousands_?  I don’t know if I can even comprehend the existence of that many people. It makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.

Just when I think that there’s no way anyone could stand out in this endless swarm of concert-goes, something gleams from between two figures. A searing flash of colour like a streetlight in the dark, luminous even in the bright sunlight. What _was_ that? Or rather, who? I bob my head around, hunting for that same flash again, darting between the people like a slalom. There it is- deep, dark purple. A huge, chunky leather jacket. I don’t really care about the music now. I’ve got to see this person- who could be so mesmerising? They must be important- what if it’s him? What if it’s Hendrix himself, keeping a low profile-? No, it can’t be. But it must be someone amazing.

I’ve got to find out.

“Excuse me, can I just-excuse me!” I press meekly, sifting through layer after layer of the audience, following the purple jacket like a lantern. As we get further from the stage, the crowd becomes less dense, and I’m running. Somehow, it still stays just ahead of me, partially obscured by some unfortunately-placed body. I can make out a little more now- a smudge of dark hair, haloed by the sun so it looks kind of blue- indigo, I’d say. Indigo hair, and long black trousers which trail across the grass like a sinuous shadow. I could almost catch up with him- I’m only a few strides away- and then, my vision’s blocked by something huge.

“Dom?” Chris booms, taking hold of my shoulders in his immense hands. “Where are you going? Stage’s over there, mate.”

“Oh,” I say, remembering where I am. “Yeah. I dunno. Zoned out a bit.”

Tom appears next to him, scanning the crowd for long legs and nice tits, I assume. “Morg’s still having a crisis about his skin. Thinks he’s ruined his complexion.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually.” Chris steers me back towards the stage and away from my purple friend, who seems to have vanished completely when I sneak a glance over my shoulder. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time without him. When’s Ravi Shankar on? I hope it doesn’t rain,” He grumbles, eyeing a looming dark cloud in the corner of the sky with derision.

I huff quietly to myself. _You’ve escaped this time, man of mystery, but next time you won’t be so lucky. There’s always tomorrow._


	2. Chapter 2

“Jesus wept,” Tom remarks, taking in the sight of an endless stream of girls, strewn in flowers, parading in from the right of our van the next morning. “Look at the legs on that one.”

 I’m far too enthralled, though, by the daisy chain I’m frustratedly working away at to notice his commentary. Then sun bakes on my back, and I think I’ve given my fingers cramp from the delicate work, but it amounts to not much; my thumbs are too large and clumsy to do much but break the feeble stalks in half. Exasperated, I throw down the flimsy remnants of the flowers and gaze longingly at the miniature stage perching on the horizon.

“I’m so bored,” I groan. “When’s the music going to start again?”

Yesterday was crazy. I’ve never heard music that loud before, nor have I ever been among so many people who all knew the lyrics inside out, never felt like I shared a heartbeat with an entire crowd. It was magical, for me at least. All the others seem to be bothered about is how much their feet hurt from dancing and how completely drained it left them. But I don’t care about that. I found myself hoping the sun would never rise so that night could last forever and I’d never have to go home.

Tom turns indignantly on his heel. “What? That racket all through last night not enough for you?”

I smirk back at him. “No.”

“You’re mental,” He grins. “I swear, I’ve never seen you so enthusiastic about anything until we got here. You’re finally in your element.”

“Not right now, I’m not.” I stand, flustered, shaking the little strands of grass from my clothes. “Tell the guys I’m going out to find something to do. I’m going out of my mind sitting here all day.”

“Dom? Dom!” I hear him call as I dash off. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere!”

*

It only takes a few minutes before I’m lost in a labyrinth of tents, stalls lining the muddy walkways. There’s something rather pleasant about the feel of cool mud on bare feet, and the strangeness of all the people around me, and my total disorientation; I like getting lost. At home I’d often grab my bike and cycle off in a random direction until I didn’t know where I was, and just go off for a wander on my own, admiring the grass and the sky and all the small things I don’t think people value enough nowadays. Not knowing anyone makes me feel like I’m alone, but more safe. Not lonely. It’s comforting to know that a lot of people here probably like getting lost, too.

Just when I think I might be heading in the right direction, a bright voice calls me from behind, and I turn. There are so many people swarming everywhere that I’m not sure who it’s come from at first, but eventually I spot a girl with long curtains of dark hair and a small headband of daisies with her eyes trained on me, sat in the shade of one of the stalls. She jerks her head to beckon me over and I nervously oblige, ducking into the shelter.

Once I’m in the shade, I notice that she’s wearing spectacular makeup; glitter adorns her eyes and drips down to her chin like tears. Her lips are painted bright blue. “Hey,” She greets me, and I notice the American twang to her voice. “Are you okay? You look a little…dazed.” She frowns. “Are you high?”

I blink. “No, I’m not. I’ve never, uh, used drugs.”

“Oh,” She shrugs. “I must have imagined it, then. Sorry about that.” It’s only after that I remember I did use drugs, once. I smoked weed, but only a little. I didn’t get high. I was too scared that my parents would go crazy when I got home. But I figure I don’t need to tell her that.

“You’re kinda cute, you know?” She grins to herself, taking me by surprise. “What’s your name?”

“Uhh, Dom.”

“That’s cool. I’m Brenda.” She takes a drag from a cigarette, wisps of smoke rising slowly to the roof of the stall. “Are you English?” She chuckles lowly. “Cause I _love_ English accents. Reminds me of George Harrison, you know?”

I laugh faintly. “I’m not from Liverpool. Sorry.”

She hums. “You wanna stay in here a while?” She asks, nodding her head towards the tent behind her with a coy smile. I’m about to accept her offer when I realise what she’s offering.

“Oh!- Er,” I grimace. “I’m afraid I don’t…I mean, you’re really nice, but…I don’t swing that way.”

Her brown eyes widen and for a moment, I’m terrified. I haven’t told many people that I like men. It’s a closely-guarded secret. Only Chris knows- not Tom or Morgan. Those guys are great, but- I don’t know. I’ve never quite clicked with them as easily as Chris. I get the feeling they wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore if I told them. And like I said, I don’t have that many friends. I want to hold onto them. I haven’t told any of my family. They’d probably kick me out if I did. I suppose there’s some comfort to be taken in that it’s not illegal anymore, as of two years ago, and the fact that there will always be people like me out there. Somewhere.

But right now what I’m scared of is that Brenda is going to freak out at me. And tell everyone here.  But to my surprise, all she does is laugh into the smoky air and pat me on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Jesus,” She snickers. “I thought you were gonna have a heart attack or something. You went so pale!” She holds another laugh back. “It’s okay, though. Nobody cares about that here. You’re free.” I laugh nervously, and she scrutinises me for a moment, still smirking. “Wait. How old are you?”

The question takes me by surprise. “I’m nineteen. Why d’you ask?”

She pauses thoughtfully, then beams at me. “I have a friend who would be right up your street.”

I gape slightly. “A friend?”

“Yeah. If you know what I mean. I can take you to his tent, if you’d like.”

Gulping, I look around us. I can’t help like feeling we’re being watched – but maybe I’m just imagining it. I probably just feel a little guilty. I turn to her again anxiously, speaking in little more than a whisper. “H-how much?” I ask shakily.

“How much?” She looks baffled, then breaks into raucous laughter, turning a few heads to my alarm. “Oh my- oh, Dom, he’s not- he’s not a prostitute!” She cries, and I panic, fearing that we’ve been heard. “Trust me. He’ll like you. And he’s into all that _free love_.” Oh. Well that clears that up. Doesn’t make me much less nervous, though.

Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve never had sex before. And though I _do_ want this, I can’t help but feel a little scared.

“Okay,” I begin tentatively. “I think- I think I do wanna see him.”

Brenda says nothing at first, a huge grin plastered on her blue lips and her eyes sparkling like a nebula. She reaches over for a pile of what simply looks like flowers, but when she takes a handful, it’s clear that they’ve been woven into crowns, halos fabricated from petals and stalks. She deposits one on my head.

“Those are usually a dollar,” She smiles. “But I like you. And if he thinks I like you, he’ll know you’re his kinda person.”

*

Brenda leads me through the myriad of tents, leaving a smoky trail behind us through the colourful community- there’s barely room to tread between each structure, the grass worn away by countless feet, the ground blotchy with shadows from people and shelters alike. I start to get a little scared that I might not be able to find my way back to the van- how many twists and turns have we made now? I can’t even see where I came from. But Brenda keeps on dragging me along relentlessly, and the people behind me shrink and shrivel away until they’re just another blur on the horizon.

We’re deep, deep into the camp now. We’re thickly surrounded on all sides when she finally comes to a halt- God only knows how she remembered the way. The tent we’ve stopped by is spectacular- covered in splendid floral patterns, enormous and pitched in the centre like a big top. It has a garden of little flower-shaped windmills whirring in the light breeze, and bunting connected to all its neighbours like it’s the centre of the nervous system, like the beehive where all the people come and go. The scent is intoxicating- I can smell weed, but what’s more overpowering is the heavy, sleepy scent of incense. I take a deep breath of its redolent aroma and my body sways with a newfound drowsiness.

“Is this the place?” I murmur, entranced by the sight. The guy who lives here must be some kind of god.

Brenda clucks with laughter. “Look at you. You’ve not even seen him yet, and you’re already in love.” I frown at her and she pouts. “Oh, c’mon. You’re into all that flower child stuff, right? Nothing wrong with being in love.”

I shrug. “I’m just nervous, really. I don’t even know his name.”

“Well, trust me, sugar, you’ll know it soon enough. He never shuts up about it.” And with no warning, I’m shoved into the dark opening of the tent, flailing around in the air for a moment before collapsing in a heap on what appears to be an Islamic prayer rug, but to be honest it’s too dim in here to be certain. Frantic, I push myself up from the floor and peep out through the flaps- but Brenda’s disappeared.

“Where you going, voodoo child? You leaving so soon?”

Oh _great_.

I turn around, shaking a little, and see a figure sat languishing on a shapeless beanbag at the back of the tent. It’s dark, and I can’t really make much out, but I don’t think there’s anyone else here. I can still hear his low, lilting voice, the nickname still echoing in my head, and the stench of the weed and the incense seems to emanate from him, from everything around us; I briefly become very, very afraid of what Brenda’s got me into. Who _is_ this guy? What’s he going to do with me?

He rises from the darkness, the sleek silhouette of long, slim legs rising faintly into view as the shape looms over me. I tremble. He’s so tall! That’s crazy! I’m half expecting him to lean halfway across the tent and reach out for me, but instead the smoky figure strolls over to another corner of blackness and with a soft hissing sound, a tiny bright light fizzles into being and offers some illumination.

As he gradually lights more candles, that mysterious face of his comes into view at last-a long, thin nose, a pair of flickering blue eyes, neat little lips that rest in a contented smile. But what shocks me the most is his hair- incredibly dark, shoulder-length and scruffy- but in the perfect shade of _indigo_.

“Hey,” I gasp. He flits his eyes to me inquisitively, but remains silent. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

At that he grins widely and lounges back in his seat, all the candles lit and his outfit in full view. Now I can make out a very, very tight pair of flared jeans, a jacket adorned in the most iridescent shade of peacock-blue and shimmering with every movement, and necklace upon beaded necklace hanging from his exposed collarbones to his hips. I’ve also noticed a pair of white platform shoes tucked under the ankles of those jeans of his- it’s a relief to know he’s not really _that_ tall. “I’m sure you have.” He drawls, and I panic for a moment that I _should_ know who he is. He certainly dresses like a rockstar.

“Are…are you famous?”

He laughs. “Not yet. But hopefully one day.” He reaches somewhere behind his chair and pulls out a hefty white Fender, stroking the strings lazily for a second, pulling a few silken melodies from it before becoming bored and turning to me again. I have to admit, what I’ve heard is impressive. I hope he sings as well as he plays.

“I’m Dom,” I mumble. “Brenda brought me here.”

“Brenda?” He seems to turn the thought over in his mind for a moment. Then he smiles. “Any friend of Brenda is a friend of mine. I’m Matt. What are you here for, Blondie?”

I don’t respond immediately, for a number of reasons; firstly, I’m not really sure why I’m here. I just talked to someone and somehow found myself in this tent. Secondly, I’m trying to place his accent- just when I think he’s American, some intonation of his leads me to believe he’s English, perhaps even from Devon, like me. It’s mystifying. And for some reason his eyes are extremely distracting.

“S-she said I could do with some company,” I paraphrase, rather inaccurately. “Some, er _, male_ company.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Ah. I see what you mean.” He smiles deviously. “Looking for some free love, I take it.” At that he wanders away to the back of his tent again, fumbling with a cassette player. Gentle sitar music begins to flow ambiently towards me, and my breath catches in my throat as Matt turns back to me, tosses off his gleaming jacket to some distant corner and descends to place a hand on my-

“Hey, wait.” He interrupts, and I’m too in shock to respond. “Is…is this your first time? Like…with anyone?” It’s odd to see his lax expression turn so quickly into one of concern, and I take a while to reply to him.

“Um…yes.” I answer, dipping my head, but a hand catches my chin and scoops in back up. Suddenly I’m caught in the glare of those hypnotic eyes. _Crazy. Looks just like the night sky._

“Don’t be ashamed,” He whispers, not taking his eyes off me even for a second. Not even blinking. “Everyone has to have a first time, right? Doesn’t matter. Now, tell me, are you nervous?”

I nod quickly, and he beams at me benevolently. He reaches to gently take off my crown of flowers and set it silently on the ground beside me. “Wait here. I have just the thing.”

He returns from his bag quickly with a rolled-up spliff, and my stomach churns. If my mum knew what I was doing right now, she’d kill me for sure. But as Matt smiles and lights it, holding it temptingly to my mouth, I remind myself that mum in hundreds of miles away, and that I’m allowed to do something crazy, if just this once.


	3. Chapter 3

I’m awake, and even the tiny pool of sunlight splattered on the floor of the tent is enough to singe my bleary eyes. The tent? Yes – Matt’s tent. I remember now. It feels strange to be lucid again. It felt like years and years, that high. Like I could have been born and grown old and rotted away into the soil over the course of one day and one night.

I feel around myself. Blankets. Rugs. Pillows. A body – a warm body, thank god. I reach out for him, my palm connecting gently with his hot chest as it rises into the contact and falls, maintaining it. I turn to him and gape. It really happened. It did not feel real and yet at the same time it was the most real I have ever felt. My hand moves to rest on his sleeping shoulders, and I turn to stare at his blissful, dozing face, lips just parted and comforting, graceful breaths pouring out. I’ve never woken up next to someone before, never mind – well, whatever Matt is. 

I move my face closer and closer until my lips catch his gently, and with a little snuffle and a few lazy blinks, he’s awake, too. Just about. His eyes narrow and sweeten upon seeing me.

“How was it, sweet thing?” He murmurs.

“Good.”

He laughs. “Do you even remember it? You were out of your mind.”

I nod. Of course I remember.

_The heady taste of the smoke gathers in my mouth. At first I think I might choke, and I panic, but before I can complain the spliff is pinched from my lips and the smoke spews out like dragon’s breath. I don’t feel anything yet. He gives it back. One more puff. Two. He has one himself, and I start to feel light. Dizzy._

_His hand snakes around my waist, and in a bout of drowsiness I fall to rest my head against his forehead. There I meet his eyes. So blue. So much bluer now than before. One more puff, and then a kiss; a long, melting kiss filled with smoke. It tastes better now._

_The rest comes like second nature. I only break the kiss for air, and then dive back in for more. My fingers grasp at his dark hair, taking handfuls and knotting it in my fists. He moans, or was it me? Both of us? My fingers are numb, my lips are numb, but the rest of me is on fire, blazing away with that smoke and the heat of the tent and Matt’s body._

_His long, elegant fingers shrug away my waistcoat, delving in to grab the bottom of my shirt and wrench it over my head. On his way down, I see him take hold of the dreamcatcher; admire it fondly for a moment, with a little laugh. Briefly, I’m afraid that he thinks I’m uncool. But the heady, warm tone of his low chuckle, combined with the soothing effect of the weed, causes all my doubts which would so often cling to me to drift off like a summer’s breeze. He loops the dreamcatcher off my head, and I toss my hair, enjoying the new freedom. He kisses my bare neck, lips soft and hot against the perspiring skin, and I close my eyes, dipping into the dream. Battling through his fussing hands, I take hold of his shoulders._

_Take yours off too, I say. It’s only fair. He laughs a lot at that._

_Make me, he says._

_So I try to tackle him, but my bleary vision and slumbering limbs don’t give me much of an advantage and I slump into his lap, into his arms, just managing to shove the chameleonic garment away from him. His skin is pale as bone beneath. It makes me feel giddy and light, as if some kind of elfin being is huddled close to me rather than a human._

_To be honest, I wouldn’t be too surprised if he wasn’t human. I did say those eyes were out of this world. Maybe he’s an alien?_

_He grabs my hands. You’re a bit bolder now, aren’t you?_

_I kiss him hard on the lips. I’m not shy anymore. I know what I want._

_His arms circle my waist loosely. I kiss him more deeply this time, and he starts to fumble with my trousers. I return the favour, barely even approving the action in my head before I’ve already undone his fly. Our lips don’t part for a second._

_Briefly breaking apart to tug off the rest of our trousers, I seem to have rendered him speechless for a moment. I look down; somehow it hasn’t really computed that I’m now naked with a stranger. If I was lucid right now I might have panicked and blushed like an idiot, but it feels surprisingly normal now. Light. Free. Untainted. I remember the thought I had the other day that people should just go back to living like animals and stop pretending they’re something they’re not. That seems particularly relevant now. This all feels so natural, so organic. I sink back down into his arms, relishing the feel of his bare skin against mine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, the heat settles inbetween my legs, and I feel his palms caress the sensitive flesh of my thighs._

_That reminds me of another thought I had. I think I read a book once which was about how sex – as if I’d know, virgin that I am – is basically two souls combining for a moment, sharing their life energy. You give up a little bit of your life to a person. That’s certainly how this feels so far. This momentous occasion in my life is going to belong to Matt forever. I love the idea of that._

_Without words, he urges me up onto his lap, encouraging me to roll my hips downwards against his cock. I moan at the contact (it was definitely, definitely me that time) and snatch a wet kiss from him. As much as I’m enjoying this, I need to have him inside me. I need to know how it feels._

_What?_

_I glare down at him quizzically._

_Did I say that out loud?_

_His laughter bellows through the hazy air. I’m very flattered, sugar. Not long now._

_He leans back, reaching over his own head into a denim sack on the floor behind him. He empties the contents in a heap over the carpet, picking out a small white tube and a condom. My skin starts tingling. The anticipation is too much to bear as he rises back up, smiling handsomely, and drags me by the chin into one more dazzling kiss. He tastes like indigo smoke._

_I mewl into his mouth as his hand reaches between my legs, brushing teasingly down my length for a heartbeat before cupping me in his fingers. With his other hand, he prepares himself, and I watch. After a while I have to look away, because I know I’ll come too soon if I keep watching. I don’t want to embarrass myself. Not anymore than I already have done, anyway._

_He kisses my cheek. I’ll do you, too. I don’t want it to hurt you._

_I laugh. Is it that big?_

_He laughs, too. I’m not sure whether that’s a yes or a no._

_Nuzzling his face into my neck, I gasp as one of his fingers enters me. It doesn’t hurt. Not yet, anyway. But it feels very, very weird._

_What did you do with the spliff? I think I need another drag._

_He nods. It’s right here._

_I take it from him gratefully. The taste is nothing to me now, nothing but a lullaby, a night-song. I feel myself relax instantly. It should be easier now._

_And it is. Two more fingers slide in, and I barely flinch. I shut my eyes and enjoy the sensation._

_Matt, I groan. Matt, that feels good._

_His airy laugh tickles my ear. I’m glad he’s laughing. I think I read that somewhere, too. If you can’t laugh with someone in bed, then you shouldn’t be in bed with them. But this will do just fine._

_And it’s a good job it’s fine, because his fingers leave me, and then – that is_ not _a finger._

_I give a loud cry of pleasure as he fills me, throwing my arms around his neck and rocking my hips down to meet him. He winces at the movement, grinning like a Cheshire Cat against my cheek, keeping a firm hold of my sides as we move against each other slowly. He was right, it does hurt. But it’s a good hurt. It’s worth it. I cope with the pain by digging my nails into his back. It must hurt him – I feel like apologising as soon as I see the red lines I score into his skin – but he doesn’t complain. He continues to sigh and gasp and laugh. As the pain starts to subside and the pure, bracing sensation takes over, I find myself laughing, too. The world is spinning and ridiculous. I love it, and I’m sure that I love him, too._

_As if I need affirmation of that, he takes hold of my cock, stroking it lovingly with his finger and thumb. Letting my head hang back, I reward him with a particularly hard grinding of my hips onto him, and he begins to babble incoherently._

_Dom, Dom. I can’t go much longer._

_Me neither, I pant._

_The sweat is dripping off us now. The eyeshadow he was wearing is running down the sides of his face in rivulets, like black tears. I kiss them devotedly, like Catholic icons. As the climax starts to build and burn inside me I kiss the thin, pink lips, capturing them and drawing his face to mine so that when we cry out we cry into each other’s mouths. I spill onto his stomach and the heat within me soars with his orgasm._

_Spent, my face falls against his, and I grab for his arms to steady myself._

_What time is it?_

_Can’t be long after midday, sugar._

_Really? It feels like years. It feels like minutes and hours and seconds and lifetimes. I feel like I’ve been in here forever, with you. I don’t want to leave yet._

_A snarky chuckle. Then don’t._

And I didn’t. I stayed here for the rest of the day and all through the night. Not always fucking. Sometimes just lying there smoking, or kissing, or talking about life and the universe. He has a lot to say about those things. It seems he can articulate the thoughts I can only grasp strands of in the wind. But he agrees with me. He thinks people are connected, too. I told him about what I’d heard about sex, and he agrees with that too. He said there’d always be a part of my soul in him, and a part of his in me.

So far today we hadn’t really done anything but sleep. But I didn’t mind. I was too tired to do much else anyway. That’s the thing with weed; it calms you down, but it makes you sleep like a log. I woke up earlier this morning with my limbs feeling like they were made of fog and water, like moving too fast would make them dissipate.  All I could do was watch him sleep, admire the scratches on his back and feel a faint pride that they were my doing. It’s only now I feel solid again. And I’m still dizzy.

Grinning, I roll on top of him.

“What are we going to do today?” I ask.

He pecks the tip of my nose. “We should probably leave the tent at some point.”

Without a moment’s hesitation I melt my lips into his. “I don’t want to.”

“Are you sure?” He challenges me. “You want to sit here and miss Jimi Hendrix?”

I gasp. How could I have forgotten?

He must have been good.

“Don’t worry. It’s two o’clock now. He’s performing at nine in the morning.”

I sigh. “That’s good. That means we have some time to ourselves.”

*

It’s midnight. We finally left the tent as the sun disappeared from the peachy sky, leaving the black-and-blue void of the summer night sky to bear down on us. We didn’t really go anywhere – we just lay down on the grass outside the tent, amongst the jittering windmills, looking up at the stars. There aren’t so many lights out here, so you can see everything. And they aren’t the stars I know back home. They’re fresh, new, American stars. And Matt knows the names of every single one.

“See that one, there? Shaped like a teapot a little? That’s Ophiuchus. The snake-bearer. And above him, that’s Hercules. You know who that is, right?”

“Right.”

I could drown myself in his knowledge. Why is there nobody like him at home? Is there nobody else like him in the world? My eyes begin to sting.

“Hey – hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“After tonight, I’m going to go home. And I’m never going to see you again.”

He frowns, stroking my face. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. It’s a one-in-a-million chance. I’ll go back to England and you’ll go back on tour with your friends, and you’ll disappear out of my life forever, and I’ll never find anyone like you.”

“There are lots of people like me,” He sighs.

“Then where have they been all my life?”

He shakes his head, having no answer back to that, and clutches me to his chest. He rocks me a little, against the cool fresh fragrance of the earth and the night.

“I wish you could come with me, or that I could come home with you,” He murmurs gently. “I really do. But you know, the earth has ways of bringing people together. I believe it does. You will find someone just as good for you as me, or even better. I know you will.”

I sob into his shoulder. There’s nobody better than him, I want to say. That isn’t possible. But I don’t want to upset him, too.

He leans back from me, looking solemn. He reaches around his neck, drawing off one of his aquamarine beaded necklaces with a solitary red feather attached, and lays it around my neck.

“Now you keep that,” He says. “You take it wherever you go. You wear that in the shower, in bed, under your clothes. And you remember that there will always be a piece of me in you. You got that?”

I nod vehemently.

*

We set out to the stage after lying there for another couple of hours, mostly in silence. It’s such a contrast to the roar of the crowd when we arrive – for the past day or so, it’s been so quiet and lazy and soft in my head. I’d all but forgotten what loud noise was like. Already, the sun is peeping over the horizon again. I just know this is going to fuck up my sleeping pattern. Mum’s going to give me a right scolding for it.

There’s barely any space between the bodies. Most people have already been here for hours, and many are slumped on the floor, their legs having given up after hours of standing. I follow Matt, burning bright in his Union-Jack clad jacket, my beacon in the darkness. His hand drags me through the chaos.

It’s at this point that I wonder where the others have got to. They must be here in the crowd somewhere. Even if they were worried about me, they wouldn’t pass up Hendrix for my sake. In fact, I’d be disappointed in them if they did. This is the chance of a lifetime.

Thanks to the sleepiness of the crowd, we manage to sneak relatively close to the stage. Matt moves behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist. I fidget and protest.

“What?” He asks playfully. “You think these guys are going to judge you? Not likely. And even if they did, do you care what they think?”

I shrugged, and let him draw himself closer to me, resting my head against his shoulder. The next few hours crawl on like centuries. I would usually like this music, but I’m too impatient to enjoy it. Matt knows that, allowing me to relax into him rather than making me dance. The mud is thick and cool beneath my feet, and getting thicker as the night goes on. It should be like a swamp by the morning.

And then, just as I’m about to nod off in Matt’s arms, I hear the screech and squeal of a guitar. And there’s only one person who could be playing it.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, suddenly flooding with life, with energy. “Matt – Matt, is that-?”

A familiar tall shape wanders into the brash orange light of the stage, and my heart is in my mouth.

Matt’s lips press to my ear. “Sure is, sweet thing.”

I spill a childish, giddy laugh. And then I scream, I scream my lungs out.

The deep, husky voice resounds across the fields like the voice of God, like no other voice ever could. My body is beyond my control, dancing wildly in the splashing mud and the streaming brands of coloured light. The friction of Matt against me is driving me insane. I need to touch him. I need to feel him, now, at this moment in my life. It’s the only thing that could make it better.

The chorus of All Along the Watchtower crashes into my consciousness as I turn to face Matt and kiss him open-mouthed, fully in sight of everyone around us. He calmly accepts me and smiles into my kiss, pressing his hips to mine fervently, breathing heavily into my mouth. I lean in again to grab him, and in my swift movement, I lose my footing, sliding into the mud. Laughing down at me, he doesn’t pick me up. Instead he kneels down in the dirt with me and presses his mouth to mine, slipping his tongue inside and gyrating against me, our clothes thick with mud. The music courses through us, the bassline thundering in my bones, and I become aware that this is the greatest moment of my life so far. Potentially of my entire life to come, too. Because I can’t think of anything better than this.

We must have kissed, there in the mud, in front of everyone, for the entire set. Because all I can remember was that suddenly, the music had stopped, and he was gone, and all I could hear was the screaming of the crowd seeing him off. I lay in the grimy grass, so suckered to the mud that I could barely pull myself from the ground, with Matt next to me. And we were laughing like it was our last night on earth.

*

My head still pulses long after morning has broken and everyone has left. The light of day is offensively bright to my dreary eyesight, and every muscle in my body aches. Matt picked me up from the ground, popping me out of the mud, and stood me back up. It took us a good hour to find our way back – not to the tent. To here in the van.

My friends made it back from the concert before me. When they spot me through the swinging open door, Chris rises, aching, from his seat and stumbles out, looking relieved.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” He gapes. “We thought you’d vanished for good.” He looks to the stranger, whose shoulder I’m clinging to for support. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Matt,” I smile. I turn to him fondly. His eyes are still smudged with makeup. “I met him yesterday.”

Chris eyes me with a knowing smile. He understands. But he says nothing more on the subject.

“Come in and see the others,” He invites us. “They’ve missed you. Morgan was convinced you’d been abducted by aliens, bloody lunatic.” He turns to Matt. “We’ve got booze, if you’d like some.”

Matt clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I have to go soon. My band’s clearing out of here in an hour.”

Chris looks markedly forlorn – if not for his own sake, then for mine. “That’s a shame. What are they called? We should check you guys out some time.”

I look to Matt. I genuinely hadn’t thought to ask.

He shrugs. “Just some little project of mine. Rocket Baby Dolls, we’re called. You’ll probably never hear about us again.”

Chris smiles. “I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, mate. You have a safe journey home, yeah?”

Matt nods to him, and Chris slinks back inside.

“Matt, I don’t want you to go.” I say stubbornly. “Do you have to?”

“I’m obliged to, sugar.”

I wipe my eyes again, praying he won’t see how close I am to crying. But when he turns me to look him full in the face I see that his eyes are just as raw and glassy as mine.

“We’ll meet again, I know it.”

“How?”

“I just know these things.”

“Just in case we don’t,” I interjected. “I love you, Matt. I’ve never loved anyone like you.”

He shakes his head. “And I love you too, Dom. But you have to get on with your life. There are other things in the world besides me and you, you know? I don’t want you pining away for me. You promise me, if you love me, that you’ll move on. Promise?”

Biting my lip, the tears fall. I nod.

He gives me a long, last kiss which still stings on my lips long after he’s gone.

*

It’s been a year since Woodstock. We came back to Teignmouth. The summer ended and winter blanketed Britain, and then Spring succeeded in all its loveliness. And life without Matt continued, as if it had never happened, as if it had been some distant dream.

Chris has a girlfriend now, and a job. He says he wants to propose to her soon, but I keep telling him, it’s too soon. He’s not been a free man for long enough yet. Tom’s got a job in a sweet shop by the pier, and we get discounts. Morgan’s on holiday at his dad’s house in Wales. Life continues, as normal. The sea winds still buffet the cliffs like walls of ice. The seabirds chatter on my roof in the morning, my natural alarm-clock. I sit on the beach and watch the ferries crawl across the channel from afar, bleak grey shadows moving on the horizon.

And once in a while I remember the summer. The real, proper summer, with a gleaming sun and flowers and music. The summer which I often can barely believe was real. I don’t see the American clouds here, or the American stars. I don’t see any stars. The lights from the town are often too bright, and the sky is too grey.

I skip a stone across the water, watching the seal-grey ripples as they pattern the waves.  A foghorn lows in the distance, and I can’t see the ship it came from. The mist must be too thick across the sea. Sometimes I cast my eyes to the West, past the peninsula, and wonder where Matt is. He’s somewhere across that vast ocean, with a piece of my soul inside of him. That thought makes my chest hurt. I tug at the beads around my neck, pulling them out from under my shirt. Some muscly kid in a tracksuit thought it was worth punching me over, so I don’t wear it over my clothes anymore. But it’s still here, reminding me.

Sighing, I decide that it’s time to go home. I’ve wasted enough of my day glaring blankly into the foggy sea. I climb up the sandy steps from the beach, up onto the pier. I might pop into Tom’s sweet shop on the way home. Get some pear drops.

As I trail down the pier, the notice board catches my eye. I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything that impressive on there; just gaudy, rain-sodden posters in scraps from the moisture. But one flyer in particular stands out to me as if destiny placed it there just for me to see.

Rocket Baby Dolls. The Smuggler. Nine o’clock, Wednesday.

I run home.

 

 


End file.
